by Syms, Carly
"Maybe let me finish the story you wanted to hear so bad," I say, and he nods. "To answer your question, I didn't do a lot of surfing on my own because there didn't seem to be a point to it if Alex wasn't there with me. But even when you're with someone, how can you not feel like you're by yourself in something as big as the ocean?"
Walker blinks twice as if he hasn't been expecting me to say something like this. "I guess I've never noticed."
"Yeah," I say. "Plus, when you're on the board, it's just you and the water. No one's there to make it easier for you. It's not a team sport the way you can't win in baseball or football without a bunch of other people. You're the only one who can ride that wave."
"Okay, okay, okay. I get it. You're right."
"Yeah, but I'm not done yet. All the competitions I entered, I did that alone. Me. Maybe Alex was there to cheer me on, but winning? That was all me. Alex might have helped make me a better surfer, but he was never why I loved it in the first place."
"So what happened?" he asks, and I swallow hard, biting down on my lip, because this defense of surfing makes me a feel a little bit like a liar since I've stayed away from the sea for so long. "Alex move away? You guys have a fight?"
I frown, the corners of my mouth twitching slightly. "No," I say, my voice strong and loud. "He died."
Walker stares at me. "Wait, what? Rachel, I'm sorry."
There's no disbelief or fake shock or horror or grief, and I'm surprised to realize I appreciate it. He didn't know Alex, and he can't feel sad for him or understand the weight of his loss.
"Yeah, me too."
"When?"
"A month ago," I say, and now I don't miss the surprise flash in his eyes. "Like I said, one day can change everything."
"It happened in the water?"
"How else would he die? Would anything else make sense?"
"I guess I understand now," Walker says, tossing the small salt shaker from the table back and forth between his hands. "Sorry I said you weren't real about surfing. But you have to get back out there."
"No."
"Why not?"
I shake my head. "Not that easy."
"Yeah, it is," he tells me. "You just do it."
"I can't."
"Sure you can. You did it once before, didn't you?"
"Not after my best friend died."
"No, but maybe it was scarier back then. You didn't know what you were getting into. At least now you already know what you're doing. I can't imagine ever giving up my painting."
I smile, but there isn't a lot of happiness behind it. "I said that all the time. You'd be surprised how easily it changes."
"I don't think so."
"Besides, I'm not sure painting buildings is the same thing."
He shakes his head. "It's not about the buildings," he says. "But that's a different story. I've been painting forever."
"Some people get lucky that way and figure out what they love early," I tell him. "Like me with surfing and you with painting. I never thought I'd have to be the person who has to start all over again later. Find a new passion, a new reason to get up every day. But here I am. Just biding time until I can get to college and get out of town in the fall."
He raises his eyebrows. "No, I'm not buyin' it. You don't have to do that at all."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
"You get back on your board like Alex would want you to do."
"You didn't know him."
The left corner of Walker's mouth twitches up. "Am I wrong?"
I sigh. "No."
"Exactly. So get back out there. What's it gonna hurt?"
I shake my head. "Thanks for the burger," I tell him, tossing the napkin in my hand aside and sliding out of the booth. "You held up your end of the deal, and now I've held up mine. Story time is over."
Before he can stop me like I know he will, I turn and run out of Hilo's, and I don't slow down until I'm tucked safely behind the sturdy front door of our house.
CHAPTER SIX
Waking up the next morning is the same as it has been every day for the last month.
I lay in bed, nestled under my blankets, praying this will be the day I'll feel different, and I'll finally know what to do with myself.
It never is.
I know what everyone wants me to do -- get back in the water again -- and I know what I want to do -- avoid surfing at all costs.
So instead, I settle on a compromise with myself: I'll head down to the beach, and I'll even put my bathing suit on, but I won't go all the way in the water.
And I know what you're thinking. Big deal. I go down to the sand every day. Heck, I even waded in yesterday.
But I don't go here.
Not to the canoe.
Not to this bright beacon of happiness and memories and everything that's me and Alex.
But I have to do it. If I'm ever even going to think about getting back on my surfboard, I have to go here first.
My stomach clenches slightly as I make my way down the sand and catch my first glimpse of the impossible-to-miss wooden boat that's been sitting on the beach near our houses for as long as we both could remember.
On That Day, I met Alex in front of the canoe, like usual. He was leaning up against the bright boat splashed in reds, oranges and yellows, and no one seems to know where the paint job came from.
Nobody uses it anymore -- I don't know if anyone ever did -- and no one knows how the boat came to rest on our patch of sand, but it hasn't moved in all the years I've lived here. The small boat, barely big enough for two, has been our surfing meeting spot for almost a decade.
So when I see it in front of me and know I'm going to it, it's impossible to keep the memories of all the mornings and afternoons from coming rushing back to me.
I suck in a deep breath, one, then two.
But the churning in my belly doesn't go away. It's all so familiar, all so real and right and normal, and it doesn't make sense that Alex isn't going to pop up from behind the canoe and announce this was his idea of a great big practical joke.
Typical Alex.
I stand in front of the canoe for what must be hours, just staring at it, before I eventually slide my back down the side and wriggle up against it.
People come and go around me, all dressed in bathing suits and cover-ups, lathered in sunscreen, and I'm sure I get more than my fair share of curious looks, but no one disturbs me.
Maybe they can see how important this is for me, or maybe no one wants to get tangled up with the crazy that I'm positive is radiating off my skin.
As I sit here, I wonder where I'd be today if Alex was still around.
But I already know that answer.
I'd be here, exactly where I am now, probably with my legs dangling off a surfboard in the warm waters of the Pacific, waiting to catch a wave.
And even when I do think maybe I want to get back out there now because I remember how good it used to feel, I seize up.
I'm just scared it's gonna feel different.
Worse.
Painful, without Alex here.
So I stay safely on the sand, and as far as I know, I'm not going to be able to get back out there anytime soon.
I'm not strong enough.
"I've heard so much about you."
The voice startles me out of the same thoughts that keep turning around in my head, over and over and over again.
I look up into a face that's familiar but unrecognizable. I stare hard at her features -- the shoulder-length blonde hair, the blue eyes that are so clear and piercing they look like they belong on a prop doll at a Haunted House -- and I know that I've seen her before, but I can't place her face.
We've definitely never spoken until now.
"Oh," I say lamely without getting to my feet. "Cool."
The girl chuckles and shakes her head. "I suppose I should introduce myself." She smiles sweetly at me, but alarm bells start clanging in my brain. I don't like it. "I'm Piper Monaghan."
The
name doesn't mean much to me, but all of a sudden, the clear accent definitely does. There's a strong Australian twang in her voice, and now I know exactly who she is.
This is the girl Ahe pointed out to me at the market the other day. The surfer from Australia. The one who's apparently in town for the International Invitational in a couple of weeks.
The one who's going to take my name away from me, if I let her.
And, believe me, I'm going to let her. I don't have a choice. I'm going to have to give it up because defending it means I'm back on my board.
"Rachel."
"Yeah, I know who you are," she says.
I nod. "Most people out here do."
Her eyes narrow and flicker, and I know Piper's wondering why I haven't admitted I know who she is, too.
But to be honest, I'd never even heard of her until Ahe told me who she was.
And besides, I kind of really don't like her.
She stares at me for a few seconds, and I just know she's waiting for the little light bulb to go off in my head, but I refuse to make this easy for her.
"I'm Piper Monaghan," she repeats, slower this time, like I'm too dumb to catch it at first.
I nod and smile. "Yeah, you said that," I tell her, trying to disguise the disgust in my voice with sweetness. "It's really nice to meet you."
She sighs, defeated. "I surf, too."
"You do?" I try my best to sound surprised. "That's great! Where do you surf?"
"Australia," she replies. "Mostly. I'm from there. I've done some other international competitions, but never in the States."
"How do you do?"
She smirks. "I win."
"Me too."
"I know," she tells me, then immediately looks angry with herself. "But not anymore, eh?"
I snap my head up quickly and get to my feet. "I haven't lost a competition in years."
"Okay, but you quit. You can't win when you're not surfing."
"I'm--"
"You're what, Rachel?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest. "You're out of the game. Don't pretend otherwise. I might be from Australia but I know people in the States, and they all say you haven't been back on your board since your friend died. That's a sweet story and all, but what kind of surfer are you?"
"The best."
Piper shrugs. "Maybe you were."
"Alex dying doesn't take my wins away."
"Of course not," she says, nodding. "But ask anyone in Australia. I'm the best they've got. They'll say the same about you here. But unfortunately for you, I'm going to take that away when I win the Invitational in six weeks."
"You won't."
"Oh yeah?" She raises her eyebrows. "Who's going to stop me?"
I don't say anything because what can I say to prove that she's wrong? It's not going to be me. I can't do it.
And if Piper's good enough for Ahe to be able to pick her out of a crowded market to warn me about her, maybe there isn't anyone else around where who can take her down.
"That's what I thought." The slow smile seems to take an extra long time to spread across her face. "But I suppose I should actually be thanking you. I always want to beat the very best, of course, that will never change. But you're going to make it a heck of a lot easier for me to go to the top." Piper reaches out and touches my shoulder, and I immediately shrug it away. "I couldn't do it without you, Rachel."
"What is this? Some kind of trick to get me back surfing or something? I'm not going back! Everyone needs to get over that already. I won't do it."
Her eyes widen a fraction of an inch. "You think I want you to get back on your board?" She shakes her head. "No chance. I can get rid of you and get my name out there even more than it is now. People will know who I am, and it's all because of you." She pauses for a second. "Well, you and the wave that killed your friend. I'm gonna owe you both everything."
My stomach turns and all of a sudden, it feels like someone's snuck up behind me and sucker-punched me right in the gut.
Who is this girl to think she can walk up to me and say something like this?
She doesn't know me.
And she doesn't know Alex.
And I can't let her have this.
All of me -- from my scalp to my fingertips and straight down to the tips of my toes -- is aching -- screaming, even -- to not give up this easily, to get out there, on my board, in the ocean right in front of me, and take what Piper thinks she's going to get so easily.
"You will get nothing," I say, my voice hissing out in spurts between clenched teeth.
"You're going to stop me, then, are you?"
I suck in a deep breath, and try to force the rapidly-rising bile back down my throat.
This isn't fair, it isn't right and she doesn't deserve the surfing title. This girl is flat-out vile, and she's going to get away with it all because I can't get on a surfboard.
Piper smirks and flips her short hair over her shoulder. "That's what I thought." She gives me a light pat on the upper arm. "See you around, Rachel."
And she turns and walks away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Fancy meetin' you here."
I shake my head. "People still say that?"
Walker shrugs. "I don't know much about other people, but I sure do."
I'm sitting on the rounded side of a long log split in half in front of a small fire burning on the beach. It's something I used to do with Alex and some people we'd hang out with, and it feels right being here tonight.
"Mind if I sit down?" he asks, and then he drops onto the log before I can answer.
Typical.
I'm still tracing patterns into the sand with a stick I picked up somewhere along the beach. I'm not sure what to say to him, not after I ran out of Hilo's a couple days ago.
"What are you doing out here?" I ask mostly out of curiosity instead of annoyance at being interrupted.
"My uncle keeps his boat docked at the marina at Western," he says, naming one of the neighboring beaches I hardly ever go to. "Just walking home on the sand and I saw you."
He reaches into his back pocket and slides a toothpick from a carved wooden holder probably designed for cigarettes.
"Reformed smoker," he says, tapping his index finger twice against the box when he catches me staring. "Helps to keep my mouth busy and out of trouble."
I smirk. "And how's that working out for you?"
He grins back at me. "How do you think?"
"Touche," I say. "Kind of late to be out boating."
"Not for me. I like it out there at night. It's quieter in the dark."
"Lonelier, too."
I can feel his gaze shift over to me and linger. "For someone who's by herself a lot, you don't really seem to like it all that much."
I flinch but try to hide it. Because the thing is, I'm kind of learning how, well, lonely it really is to be alone.
"That's just the way it is."
"You have to have other friends that aren't Alex."
"Yeah, we knew the same circle of people."
"But not friends."
"Not like what we were."
"Maybe you should lean on them more."
I wave my hand dismissively in the air. "I did in the beginning. But it felt forced and not right and weird without Alex. I dunno. I'm better on my own."
He shakes his head. "I don't think you are."
I swallow hard, my stomach beginning to twist. "I don't know," I say quickly. "I'm all over the place tonight. I just need to clear my head after meeting Piper today."
Walker chuckles softly. "After meeting what? You say it like it's a poison."
"Might as well be," I reply. "And it's not a what, it's a who. That's her name, Piper Monaghan. Apparently, she's Australia's crown jewel of surfing."
Understanding dawns on his face and I watch as the corners of his mouth twitch up slightly. "So she's the foreign version of you, huh? I can't imagine why you don't like her."
"No, you're all wrong," I inform him. "I don't have
a problem with other surfers. But Piper Monaghan is disgusting."
"What happened?" He still looks skeptical that this is anything other than typical silly jealousy.
So I tell him, everything from Ahe pointing her out to me at the market, to sitting by the canoe, to her letting me know how grateful she is that a wave wiped out my best friend.
"And that is why she's disgusting," I say in conclusion, tucking a stray strand of long brown hair back behind my ear, then folding my hands in my lap.
"What's the Invitational?" Walker asks, and I feel a surge of irritation flush through me that this is the first thing he wants to talk about when I'm done with my story about the evils of Piper.
I let out a sigh. "It's a big surfing competition that happens in a different place ever year. It was Hawaii last July and Ecuador the year before. My family's never had enough money to send me to it. Until now."
"Because it's here."
I nod. "Yeah. The entry fee is only a hundred bucks. The day's been circled on my calendar for as long as I can remember."
"And now you're not gonna surf in it."
"I don't have a choice."
"So then I guess Piper isn't wrong," he says, then quickly blushes when I look up at him sharply. "Wait, wait. Hang on, that came out bad. What I'm tryin' to say is, she's obviously awful for bringing up Alex the way she did. That's terrible and there ain't no place for that kinda thing. But she's right. You can be the one to stop her, you know. You should be out on the board for that competition."
I shake my head. "I still don't get it. What does she want?"
Walker shrugs. "Who knows? Does it matter? She's buggin' you."
"Yeah, she said she's happy my best friend is dead. I think that'd be enough to bug anyone."
Walker cracks a grin. "You raise a good point."
The flames spark and crackle in front of us, shooting a stream of fire into the sky before the thousands of tiny pieces flutter harmlessly down to the sand and go dark.
"Looks like a volcano erupting or something," Walker says, and the change of subject is obvious but not unwelcome.
"I have to go back, don't I?"
"You can't ask me that, Rachel."
"Why not?"
"Because it can't be a question," he says, shifting on the log so he's facing me, and I want to look away from the truth in his eyes, but for whatever reason, I can't make myself do it. "When you're ready to surf again, it's gotta be because you know you are. Can't be because it's what I or anyone else told you to do."
